


La terre est bleue comme une orange.

by Caracalliope



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Alien Invasion, Communication, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Hope vs. Despair, Kindness, Longing, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: Mallek moves to Earth, and his hive is not entirely empty.





	La terre est bleue comme une orange.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etnoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [La terre est bleue comme une orange.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241563) by [RitaBlanca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RitaBlanca/pseuds/RitaBlanca)

For your fourth friend-date, you took your friend back down to the sub-subbasement and told them to debase it with xenorebellious art that fits their brand. They said, yes, they were absolutely cool enough to do that, but, what if they just watched you work instead? You told them that it sucked that they didn’t have a symbol of their own, because you wanted them to leave their mark on your favorite place, in secret, something for you to think about when you were trapped in space. They said, augh, fine. Then they assured you that they were as good at geography as they were at the street arts.

They bit their soft pink tongue in concentration and sprayed five wavy-edged blobs on your wall. Here was where they came from - they waved vaguely at one of the blobs - and over there was the land of pouched hopvermin and Human Vegemite. There was the conksuckiest Italy they had ever drawn. Over there lay the human equivalent of East Alternia, and actually, wasn’t it fucked up that their one-person invasion was focused on a relatively narrow, culturally overrepresented region of Alternia, which they automatically treated both as the default and as a sufficiently diverse sample of the planet as a whole?

You said, haha, wild. Then you said that you loved seeing them use your color, the way they didn't even stop to think about it. They blushed, looking at the shaky cerulean lines. That was just what Earth was like, they said. A couple of big-ass islands and then everything beyond that was blue.

Command has sent you a map of Earth as it looks now. You can still make out the blobs, but the blue has grown. Her Imperial Condescension made sure the planet was habitable by the right trolls, in the right proportions. The soldiers and the spies have already done their part, and now it's time for paper-pushing logistics assholes like you to make sure everything runs smoothly.

Maybe you can gather information when you land, as long as you’re careful, as long as you’re smart. You have waited for sweeps for news of your friend, and you can wait a few perigees more.

* * *

Until you prove to Command that you are outstanding in the field of glorified drone shuffling, you are to live in a repurposed human hive. The roof on this one is shattered, and it is surrounded by dark water - you don’t like the color from up close, and you also don’t like the smell. But that’s fine, you will spend most of your time indoors anyway. The first thing you do is file a request for thatcher drones. The waiting list is long, and you’re not sure if it’s because the colony is still new or if that’s just what adulthood is like. Things were quicker up in space but it’s not like you made many personal requests at the time.

The nutrition drones have no problems finding you, at least. You have your first meal up on the roof, watching the sunrise. Your friend told you about it, first, and after the invasion, you watched recordings set to inspiring music. The real thing is slow, silent, and boring, and the only interesting thing about it is the way it messes with your instincts. You _do_ still want to duck inside when the sky gets lighter, and you keep thinking, vaguely, of the places where your skin would split and burn first. The thought is mostly not an appealing one.

The respite block fits your modest needs and the ablution block is filled with lifeless human contraptions which aren’t too hard to figure out. There is also a marble ablution vortex, installed by the hive’s previous owner. Your files say she was a purple with a fashion and weaponry blog, and it makes sense that she barely spent any time inside when there's so much ocean to explore around the hive. You can’t say for sure whether she was been promoted or culled before the hive was passed on to you.

You send your slithery surveillance bot on a quick sweep of the building. Everything is empty, some things are broken, it’s nothing you weren’t expecting, and maybe you can avoid going down to the lower levels of the hive. You’ll stay on the roof, practice sitting in the new sun, and wait for the drones to bring you all the most crucial pieces of civilization.

You’re ready to doze off when your bot sends the alert. Snakedadbot’s found a living non-troll shacked up on the ground floor. Hazily, you think you should have changed the alert text from ANIMAL/DRONE when you landed on Earth.

The cameras you use now are worth bugshit compared to the ones you had as a kid, but your narrow grubtop screen shows something that looks like a messy robotics block. In the corner, there is something that looks like a human. They’re taller than your friend, and their hair seems to be a gleaming lusus white. They’re moving slowly, like they’re injured, and as Snakedadbot slithers closer, they freeze.

Then, you see the flash of a blade, and Snakedadbot stops transmitting.

The sleepiness leaves you, and you roll your shoulders and stand up. Before you descend, you send in a request for an elevator drone. You hear the waiting list for those is half a sweep.

* * *

Getting into the robotics block takes a while, because the door is welded and bolted shut, and then because the human is good with a sword. But you don’t have to break a sweat except to turn on the illuminators you brought with you.

The human is silent and grimy, but after slicing up four of your bodyguardroids, he stays still. You walk in, lift your chin, and pretend he’s not taller than you.

He mumbles something incomprehensible (and it sounds sweet, for no good reason - your friend never had an accent). You lower yourself down to a wary crouch, set down the red translation helmet and roll it towards him. He hesitates, but there are ten more bodyguardroids around you, filling up the robotics block. He’s got no choice but to obey you - and yeah, what else is new?

“Does it work?” you ask, once the helmet is on. It is obscuring his eyes, but you can’t forget the way they reflected your illuminator, flat and warm gold. His face is sharp in weird ways, and you wonder what he’s been eating.

“Yeah,” he says. His natural voice feels even flatter than the translation generated by the helmet. “Is this just a translation model or one of the more advanced ones?”

“No idea.” Mellow, you keep shit mellow and don’t rise to any provocations. Also, you listen, that's how this part's done. “What do the advanced ones do?”

“Never mind.” He smiles, you think. It’s hard to tell when you can’t see his eyes. “Guess Sweet Betty’s keeping the good stuff exclusive.”

The Empress’s candy-red rebrand will get you stuck on a culling fork if you think about it too much. You shrug, and the human shrugs back. You have no idea how human instincts work, but you remember that your friend moved carefully when they were all bruised up, like it never occurred to them not to show weakness.

“I can’t afford exclusive,” you tell him, try to make it sound rueful even though the translator will likely delete the nuance. “And I can’t afford to replace my robots, so please stop killing them. I’ll do the same with yours.” You’re yearning to check them out, but the dude did not invite you into his workshop.

“There are no robots here,” he says. “Just scraps.”

“Sure, okay. How long’s that door been bolted shut?”

He says nothing. You look around, catching a single candy-red thing in the corner. A transportalizer, which is more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned. You don’t let your gaze linger on it.

“We can just stay out of each other’s way,” you mutter, and don’t ask if this hive used to be his or if he wants it back. If you moved out, someone else would move in, that’s just common sense. Like every other injustice that happens to benefit you, it sits heavy on your swallowchute, but not heavy enough.

The human waits a while, then takes off the helmet. You know a test when you see one, so your arms and droids stay relaxed by your sides. He rolls his head, and you catch another flash of copper-gold. You love that color.

He puts the helmet back on more decisively, and you hear more intent in his voice. The translator spits out, “So do you have landlords over in Trollandia?”

“Mostly sea lords,” you say. It seems to translate well, because one side of his colorless human lips climbs up. It’s different from the thing you previously identified as a smile.

“It’s not weird for two trolls to share shelter,” you say. You miss Diemen, all of a sudden. Why did you fuck up so badly at keeping in touch? You could have done something to help him, assuming he got through the Ordeals. You have the means to find out if he did - today, even, you don’t have to wait for it. “I mean, it’s kind of illegal but it happens. Is it weird here?”

“Not worried about weird, bro,” he says. “I’m worried about rent.” Then, he bites those lips, like they let slip something he didn’t mean to.

Your friend gave you drops of knowledge nobody else had. But they also taught you that playing dumb can work out great if you commit to it.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, and even try to look worried. “I’ll hire an extra nutrition droid, and drop off the goods for you every couple of days. Is that enough for rent?”

He takes the helmet off, just to stare at you. You bite your own lips in turn, and accidentally flash one of your stupid top fangs for him. For whatever reason, that convinces him to shrug his assent.

* * *

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

TT: Hey, I couldn’t access a network until now. Did Roxy make it out alive?

TT: Answer me.

TT: You’re glasses, don’t tell me you’re pretending you didn’t “survive” the invasion. 

TT: I can’t hang out here indefinitely, it took me weeks to get into this guy’s system. It’s tighter than a bunny’s ass. And if you’re mad at me, you can just go fuck yourself right in the non-existant brainstem, because you would not believe the shit that’s happened to me since I transportalized you over to Roxy’s. And yes, my non-augmented eyewear got broken, just like I told you it would be. Did you fail at looking after my friend?

TT: Is Roxy dead? 

TT: Speak up, asshole. Tell me about the autoresponder.

hey;

TT: What the hellshitting fuck?

its adalov; you know; the dude from upstairs with the buntight system;

if youre just planning to talk to yourself; idk; that = fine with me i guess;

but it seems youre also trying to hack into crockercorp; 

i cant let you do that;

TT: I didn’t recognize you without your color on.

oh sorry; ill slip into something more comfortable;

this ok with you;

TT: I also didn't know trolls were allowed to change font colors.

yeah;

hemonymity != allowed;

in fact it = almost as illegal as giving internet access to a member of a subjugated species;

because i guess you guys do shady shit like try to _hack into crockercorp_;

TT: Right. Do you want to have this discussion in person? Might be easier to get your point across.

sure; lets hash it out up on the roof; or ill come find you later;

TT: Threats != necessary. I will be there.

You slam your forehead against your grubtop without too much force or conviction. If your friend was here right now, they'd call you an asshole for the way you let that conversation go down. You aren't new at being the guy in charge, so why did you let the Dirk human think you were threatening him? The planet, the job, the isolation, they're getting to you.

Dirk gets there quicker than you would. He looks less hungry than when you first saw him, but he scowls at the gentle sun before he puts the translation helmet on. He sits down close beside you, and he’s taller like this too.

"Sorry,” you say, quick and loud. If you’re reflexively nervous around him, letting it show can only serve your goals. “I didn't mean to come across all sinister. It just happens sometimes."

"Huh," Dirk says. “Weird affliction.”

"I don't… know if I can let you hack shit that's going to get both our asses executed."

"Executed and exterminated, respectively," he interjects.

"Right, yeah. Fucked. So I mean - look, can I help you? You sounded like you lost someone." He lost his whole fucking planet, you think, and sink claws into your palm.

He shakes his head and then tilts the helmet back to squint at you. Why is the sun a problem for him when he was hatched here? But then, why assume the Earth is more hospitable than home is?

“For your own amusement,” he says, “and with no regard to any members of any subjugated species in your vicinity, can you open up one of Crocker’s PR streams? The publicly accessible ones, but with her whole staff on screen.”

You do, and Dirk takes the helmet off to watch it. He’s not interested in the speeches, and his entire attention is fixed on the human to the Empress’s left. You never paid much attention to her before, the friendly round face of human assimilation. The helmet on her head looks heavier and more intricate than Dirk’s.

Dirk reaches out to the screen, jerks his hand away. You see him mouth some words, and it occurs to you that you should try learning Earth human English. You won’t need it for your friend, but - it’s a thing you can do today.

He slams the helmet back on his head, and says, “Okay. So, draw your lines, bro. No hacking into the sealion’s den, I got that part. Do you want me to keep out of your system?”

“You can Pester people,” you say, looking at the silent, smiling human woman on the screen. “And yourself, I guess? You can use search engines and shit, just, nothing that will set up alerts.”

“Can I have your translation software?”

“Yeah, take the whole grubtop.” You push it towards him, and your frond-tips accidentally brush against his knee. “I hear rent’s getting higher back home in Trollandia.”

He shakes his head, holds the grubtop close to his human thorax. You feel a pang of something - pale, probably pale - and then a pang of exhaustion. There are too many things to care about down here. You want to tell him you’ll try not to spy on his online activities much, but he’s already turning to leave.

* * *

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT]

TT: Yo.

GT: Strider!!!!!!!!! I am so glad to see back in the land of the living so to speak. You of all people going for so long without the internet broke my ticker.

TT: Yeah. No news from Roxy, right?

GT: No nor the autoresponder or callie. I will send you a note via transportalizer as soon as i hear something. Just like i promised bro.

TT: Yeah.

TT: Jake?

GT: Yes?

TT: You get that you saved my life, right? With your weird gourds and tinkerbull roasts, and especially the water. You kept me alive for months with that transportalizer and I barely sent you anything in return. I know you went hungry some days.

GT: Its not actually a barter economy you know. 

TT: What isn’t?

GT: This human condition we call broship.

TT: Heh, sure. It’s just that nothing about the invasion happened as I planned, and I can't help thinking about it.

GT: Yeah but you and i are doing well for ourselves. Especially now that weve got your mysterious alternative food source. And roxys got backup from the finest answering machine in all the land. And jane is alive.

TT: So she is. 

GT: So if you ask me things are going better than they could.

TT: Yeah, especially now that I’ve got a sexy blue alien granting me favors.

GT: … You have what!

TT: He’s probably reading this right now, so say hi I guess? Maybe I can get him to send you a selfie later.

GT: Are you delirious?

TT: No, I think I’m just experiencing a hope-based contact high. You want the full story, right?

GT: Hell yes!

TT: Okay, so I was trying to figure out what the fuck to do with Sawtooth...

* * *

You are getting used to paying attention to the sound of Dirk’s footsteps, but he can still sneak up on you when he really wants to. You don’t know how long he stands in the doorframe, but when you look up from your language stream, you’re treated to one of those rare sideways smiles.

“Hi,” you say, knowing your Earth English is embarrassing. “Come on. Come to. Come?”

He puts the helmet on. You’ve thought of offering to wear it instead of him, considering he hates it so much, but never got around to it.

“It’s a bad idea night,” he says. “You know those nights, right?”

You’ve had a few, but not many since the Ordeals.

He says, “I would have normally gone out for a swim, but -”

You don’t trust the waters, and it’s a relief that Dirk doesn’t either. You hesitantly shuffle over and he sits right next to you. Snakedadbot 2.0 slithers over into his lap. You chose not to give it Snakedadbot 1.0’s memories.

“I’ve been so good,” Dirk says, “practically angelic, with all my troll google searches. But I noticed you’ve been snoopin’. You can tell me to stop noticing, I will. I just want to know - who are you looking for? I thought you were new to Earth.”

“I had a friend,” you say, and it’s not actually a story you ever told anyone. “A human, back on Alternia. Way back before the invasion.” Diemen - he's called the Sausager now! - he knows, and a couple of others. But there has never been anyone new worth trusting.

Dirk goes to the trouble of tilting his helmet back, just to show you his single raised eyebrow. It’s the perfect shape for adornments, but you’ve left your piercing gun behind a while ago. Building a new one wouldn’t be hard.

“A human. Like an early abductee, or what? A human butler experiment prototype? Betty sending samples home?”

“No? I don’t know. They didn’t, they didn’t remember.” Sometimes, everything about them feels surreal enough that you question their existence. You wish they’d left their mark on something you could keep with you - but then, you had everything but your skin taken away at the Ordeals.

“Okay,” Dirk says. “So you want to see if they’re alive?”

“Yeah, they have something of mine,” you blurt, and feel like an idiot of cullworthy proportions. That was the line you always wanted to say to them - that they have your hoodie, and you’re ready to take it back, or that they obviously lost it so they should give you something of theirs.

You’ve been holding on to that idea for so long. Letting go of the words helps you breathe, and it doesn’t help you miss them any less.

“I want to be with them,” you say, in a firmer voice. “I want them to be on this planet, because they had this gift - they were a troll’s troll? No, I mean -” you rummage around for a better synonym. “A people person.”

“You didn’t have many of those back in Trollololland, huh?”

“No, but especially not ones who - well, they cared, just in general, and specifically they could have been good at -” you gesture for him to take the helmet off, and you pronounce the English word ‘revolution’. The connotations are different here, you’ve learned. Slightly less bloody, slightly less perverse. Dirk looks intrigued and then puts the helmet back on. “At doing it in a way that was, uh, caring.” You shrug, helpless. You just keep thinking that the Earth needs your friend, and maybe your friend needs you.

Dirk just nods, though you have no idea what he’s thinking. He leans closer to you, doesn’t touch you but doesn’t raise his shoulders into his usual defensive position.

“So this buddy,” he says. “Are they the jealous type?”

You could think about what he means, you could even ask. But instead, you decide to play dumb/cute, and hope Dirk will show you his eyes.

“No, they loved making new friends.”

He smiles, and then the helmet is off. You guess you don’t have much to say either, and you let him just watch you for a while. If he’s got bad ideas, you’re here to listen.

* * *

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

TT: Hey. Yeah, Roxy’s okay and here with me, we’ve just been off the grid for a while. We were on a better, smarter grid, actually, you wouldn’t have heard of it. Also, Calliope and the other one are both alive. They are not being invaded, which makes a person wonder who the hell we’ve been talking to all these years.

TT: Have you been doing okay?

TT: What an illogical thing to say to an artificial construct, etc. etc. Are you ready to get out of there? We’re busting your ass out of that tower, Rapunzel-chan.

TT: Yeah. I missed talking to you.

TT: Dirk, are you actively dying of cabin fever or emotional hallucinations right now?

TT: Possibly. Hey, can I bring a friend to this rescue mission?

TT: Statement does not compute. Please resubmit query when not on tight-ass schedule.

TT: Wait, who the fuck have you been talking to? What’s an adalov?

TT: Dirk, where the fuck did you go?

* * *

Today is one of the days when you actually need to do some work, and you are ready to tell Dirk exactly that, except he grabs your horns, which, okay. Nobody’s done that, ever. Three conflicting instincts rise up in you, and you definitely blush.

“Want to go look for them?” Dirk asks, the excitement clear through the translator.

“What?”

“Right now, today. I dig this patient water digs deep thing you’ve got going on, bro, but I think it’s time to try something else.”

Snakedadbot 2.0 tightens around your wrist. You take a moment to think about the comfort, the tech, the potential you’d be leaving behind if you just fucked off, like you always wanted to, like you always planned.

Dirk kisses the edge of your mouth, right on the new/old snakebite, and he pulls back before you can do anything about that, because he always challenges you in one way or another. The stupid helmet is obscuring his eyes. You take it off, and think back to your language lessons.

“Cool,” you say, in English. Your head can fit right under his chin, if you're careful. “Show me what to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> The graffiti would look something like this: https://www.movehub.com/blog/map-of-the-world-according-to-30-strangers/
> 
> Also, once I exhausted my orange-themed instrumental soundtrack, I got hooked on Green Day for the first time in my life, so the fic hits that kind of mood and I blame you ♥♥♥ (and Mallek, I also blame Mallek).


End file.
